Some hours later, having slept off fatigue, washed, and freshened himself from top to toe, Drayton approached the colonel’s quarters. On the piazza sat David Owen, with Peggy on one side of him, and Clifford on the other. His arm was about his daughter; his other hand rested on the younger man’s knee. It was a pretty picture; full of affection and quiet happiness. John Drayton stopped short at sight of it. His face whitened, and a look of consternation flashed into his eyes. Crushing his beaver over his eyes he wheeled, then strode away. The three had been so absorbed that they had not seen him, but Harriet came upon the piazza in time to catch his expression.
“Peggy,” she called.
“Yes?” Peggy went to her quickly alarmed by the insistence of her tone.
“Go to that captain of yours at once. He is troubled.”
“John troubled, Harriet? Why——”
“’Tis naught but what you can remedy, you little goose,” cried Harriet shaking her. “Don’t you dare come back into the house until you have corrected his misapprehension. I won’t have John Drayton made unhappy to-day!”
“But——”
“Oh, go!” She caught Peggy suddenly and kissed her. “Go!”
And wondering much Peggy sped down the path after Drayton. He heard her light footsteps, and waited for her.
“Why, how tired thee looks, John,” she exclaimed startled by his appearance. “I thought thee had a good sleep. Thee has worn thyself out by thy exertions. And all for us. Yet thee hath given us no chance to thank thee.”